Being John Winchester
by CIFan812
Summary: Maybe you weren’t the best father, the best protector, the best nurturer in the world. You made mistakes. But you kept them alive, and they grew up to be decent men who cared about those around them. Against all the odds. One shot. Rated T for language.


_A/N: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters. I am making no profit from this story._

**Being John Winchester**

It had taken four years before people finally stopped speaking to you with pity in their eyes and worry in their tone. They all looked at you wearily now, like they weren't sure what you'd do next. Another four years and they were looking at you in awe, because you had become a legend. Hunters all over the country knew about John Winchester. Four more years and they were looking at you with fear. A few hunters found out about the fire and started to ask questions. You kept your boys away from them in the fear that they would figure out about Sammy and someone might get stupid and do something you'd have to kill them for. Because hunters knew one way to deal with anything supernatural or touched by the supernatural – destroy it. So they feared you because the last person that asked the wrong question about your boys had ended up in the hospital. For a month. So none of them ask you questions about much anymore and the way they look at you makes you smile. You would much rather have their fear then their pity.

The more you learned about the fire and the demon the more you realized that it was after Sam. Sometimes you wish you could unlearn the things you've uncovered, but you know you can't. Denial won't save the boy, won't save his brother if the day ever comes that Sam is lost to the evil that wants to claim him. Without conscious thought or decision you have accepted that yours is the only death that's acceptable between the three of you. You're the only expendable member of your little family because you know you won't survive if either of them dies. Everything you do is for the purpose of ensuring that they can survive without you when the day comes. And because you have no idea when it will be, you want to make sure they're ready as soon as possible. Dean knows how to hit the bull's eye with the throwing knives by six. He can unload, disassemble, clean, reassemble and load all the guns and rifles in your arsenal by eight. By nine, he can make holy water and lay salt lines. He can shot the bull's eye at ten. He's at the level of a black belt in hand to hand combat by the time he's eleven. At twelve, he's learning Latin. Sammy's on the same track, with Dean taking over most of the training while you get on with learning everything you can, and killing as many evil things as you come across. Saving other people as you gain the skills and knowledge necessary to save your boys.

The first time you use Dean as bait, your gut fills with acid and you know it will be a while before you can look yourself in the mirror again. But you also know that you have to get both boys used to fear. They have to learn to push through it, suck it up. Keep going even when they're scared out of their mind. Because once you're gone, they'll have to more often than you'd care to imagine. Using Dean as bait never gets easier even as you see it having its desired effect, toughing the boy up and giving him the ability to be cool under incredible pressure. You wish you could be that fearless, that belligerent in the face of danger. Using Sammy, you discover, is far worse. Not just because you still think of him as a defenseless child, but more because he doesn't have Dean's game face. Everything he's feeling is constantly broadcast on his expressive features and you have nightmares about the raw fear in his eyes. And he never even tries to hide how much he hates you for it. You feel like the world's biggest bastard and maybe you are, but you persist. Because it has to be done. The boys have to be ready and you know it is your responsibility to get them ready.

Puberty for Dean meant girls. Lots of girls. So many girls that you started to worriedly calculate the odds of having some grandchild out there based on condom failure rates. The boy has charm in spades, and that cocky swagger and easy smile could melt even the coldest of hearts and part the tightest held legs. 

You gave him _The Talk_ about respect and responsibility. Responsibility was something the boy was used to, and he seemed to have an innate respect for women, for which you are grateful. So you bought him the biggest box of condoms you can find, pat him on the back and tell him to make sure he lets you know when he runs out. Which he does at an almost alarming rate. You're relieved that he's not a girl, because you probably would have shot a whole lot of horny teenage boys by now.

You want to tell Dean that he's everything you wish you could be, and how proud you are every time you look at him. You want to tell him that his strength amazes you. That everything that you've worked so hard to become your entire adult life he simply is. It comes naturally to the boy and it leaves you in awe. You try to tell him in every way you know but verbal because the words turn to dust in your mouth and you're both so uncomfortable with emotions.

Puberty for Sam brought petulance and rebellion. You're not prepared for it and not sure what to do about it. Dean had never been rebellious, at least not with you. Dean always did what you ordered. Sam became more likely to ask why then obey. Eventually the screaming matches started, with Dean trying to referee. You've all got the Winchester stubbornness, but Sammy has something else too, a deep seated rebellion that troubles you. You tried to explain to him that you know that he didn't volunteer for the life you have, but he was drafted. You all were and there was nothing to be done for it now but survive. Make Hell wish it have never come knocking on their door while they were at it. The boy has no idea how much you want a normal life free of monsters and nightmares, but that life died with Mary and there is no resurrecting it. Each argument with your youngest felt like it was slowly killing something inside you.

Sam notices girls too, but nowhere near the extent that Dean does and you're grateful for that because you don't think that you could handle _two_ playboys with raging harmones. You let Dean give Sammy The Talk, because you just don't know how to communicate with him any more without it turning into some huge thing. You push down the pain the realization causes, that you can't even talk to your son about how to treat a woman and using protection because it might degenerate into an argument. There will be time enough for pain and regret when you're dead.

Your little Sammy, God the things you want to tell him. You want to apologize for lashing out at him because you were hurt and frightened. You were the parent and damn it you should have just sucked it up. But you'd blown it so many times. The worst was when you learned he was leaving for Stanford. When forbidding him to leave your and Dean's protection didn't work, you lost it. It was like the day Mary died all over again. You could practically feel the heat from the flames, hear Sammy screaming in his four year old brother's arms. You wanted to tell Sam that once you got over the shock and anger and pure fear you were damn proud of what he'd been able to accomplish despite being dragged all over the country since he was a baby. Maybe if you had kept your head, the way you were always insisting that they did, maybe you would have been able to make him understand that as badly as you wanted normal for him it could never be more than a pipe dream with Hell itself breathing down your necks. But then you remind yourself that Sam had always been the type who needed to learn for himself.

You had already left Dean behind to put into action a dangerous plan to draw out the demon when you heard just how Sam found out what a pipe dream normal was. You know what he feels, and the only thing you can find to be grateful for is that he's with Dean again – well that and the fact that he didn't have two innocent children depending on him for their very survival. Now if the two would just stop trying to find you. The last thing you want is for them to be drawn into your deadly game anymore then they absolutely had to be.

* * *

"Dean's dying."

The words reverberated through your mind, making you feel as if you will go mad at any moment. Your brain will simply slip like a bad transmission. Only a bad transmission you could fix. A bad mind, not so much. You're in themiddleoffuckingnowhere, bumfuck USA, and you have no idea how the message even got through since you can't get a damn signal. But it figures, you think as you gather your strength to attempt to explain to the old medicine woman for the thousandth time the boys need you. If it had been _good_ news, it never would have gotten through.

You tried to sound commanding, but it was kind of hard to do when you felt as if your insides will be outside if you so much as breath too hard. The old woman looked at you like a longsuffering mother looking at her silly child. The look made you want to tell her what a dangerous man you are, but you knew that it wouldn't impress her. Maybe it shouldn't. After all, she had enough power to somehow keep you alive long enough for your body to start healing. She reminded you that you should be dead and that if you move now, you will be. It will be at least a week before you're fit to walk, and even longer before your fit to do any traveling even if you lie down in the back of your truck. Which wouldn't work anyway because she doesn't drive and, as far as you can tell, you're the only two people within walking distance. You lay there trying not to cry, cursing the old woman for not having a phone and praying to a God you're not sure you believe in anymore because you don't know what else to do.

When you can finally leave, you called Bobby as soon as you get a signal because you'd rather breakdown with him then with Sam. You knew that Sam will think you're callous, but you also knew that he'll need you strong even though he'd never admit it. But Bobby told you something that you didn't expect. Dean was healthy, alive and well somehow. At first you think that Sam was overreacting – something the boy has always been prone to – but Bobby confirms that Dean was dying at one point from a bad heart. The contacts that he has checking up on the boys thought his sudden return to good health had something to do with a faith healer that they visited. You don't believe in faith healing, but you're willing to suspend that disbelief if it gave you back your boy. You don't go see them because you know for sure that you're on the demon's radar and you definitely want the boys off. Especially after such a close call.

* * *

The boys still look at you like you can fix the whole goddamn world. Even Sam, sometimes especially Sam, despite the rebellion and Stanford, and you wish to God that you could. You wish their utter and unshakable faith in you was warranted. But one thing that you know for sure. That even if it means that you need to die, you will see them safe. Because failure isn't an option. It has never been an option. You know that from the moment that you put Sammy in Dean's arms and ordered him to get his baby brother out of the house and not look back.

You feel like you're on the edge of your worst nightmare coming true. Oddly enough it isn't that Sam will give into the darkness that you know is lurking somewhere inside him and that you will be powerless to stop it just as you were powerless to save Mary. Though it's definitely in the top two, it isn't in the number one spot. No, your worst fear is that these two boys you've raised to be dangerous predators will realize that you're just a guy. Just an incredibly fucked up guy who doesn't have half the answers he wished he did and who tried his best even though he's scared shitless that it won't be enough.

So you do what you've always done every day since the love of your life was murdered. You suck it up, to varying degrees of success, and you keep swinging away at the yellow eyed son of a bitch who's been trying to steal your youngest son's soul since he was a baby, praying like hell that you aren't the first to give.

* * *

You were possessed by the thing you've been pursuing for twenty three years. You tried to fight it, tried to resist. Really you had. Locked away in the only part of your brain that was left to you, screaming curses, incantations and exorcisms but your voice just bounces right back to you. Useless. You're useless.

You watch as the demon uses your body to hurt Dean, who won't fight back. Why the hell won't the boy fight back? You cringe as you hear your voice and memories used as weapons to rip the boys apart far worse than any physical damage ever could. Dean is allowing himself to be killed and the horrifying realization dawns on you that it will be at your hands. The knowledge that he's allowing it because he'd rather die than ever hurt you threatens to break you for good. Now Sammy's pinned to the wall and in utter desperation, you make one last ditch effort to break the demon's control. To your shock it works. You've never heard of anyone being able to break the control of a demon during a possession, and definitely not such a powerful demon, but you're not going to look any gift horses in the mouth at this point.

Sammy had the colt aimed at you, _aimed at the demon_, and you suddenly had hope. You beg him to shot you, end things now. So he can be safe. But he can't. You see it in his eyes, in the way his hand is shaking. Instead of a kill shot, he shots you in the leg and the demon leaves, deciding against pressing its luck. Once the demon was gone and you and Sam were rushing Dean to the hospital, you're frustrated because, goddamn it, the boy may have just pissed away the only chance he had. As usual, your frustration turns to anger, as you sat in the back seat of the Impala you'd given your firstborn. Because anger you can deal with but frustration and terror that made you feel like your heart was trying to escape your body – what the fuck could you do with that? You can feel the life flowing out of your boy, right through your fingers. You remember the day he was born, the way he grabbed your heart the instant he was placed in your arms and never let go. You see him full of life and humor, grit and determination. You feel yourself internally recoil at the reality in the back seat with you. This bleeding, trembling shell can't be your boy. Not your Dean. You want to scream, cry, throw up. You want to find a way to fix it. You hate and love the way he's looking at you all at the same time. Because he's looking like he's just grateful that you're there and okay. No anger, no recrimination that it was you that did this to him. Maybe you were possessed, but it was still your body. You let the demon get the better of you. Again. You would give anything to trade places, to die in his place.

All you could think is that Dean will die and Sam will be doomed and you will be left on the sidelines again watching helplessly as the demon you now knew as Azazel finishes destroying your family. You can see it in your mind's eye in that moment, the moment before the truck rams into the car and seals Dean's fate. Your final moments will be spent huddled in a dark corner somewhere, mad with grief, and a gun in your mouth. Because the only reason you have for living is your boys and the only thing that gets you out of the damn bed everyday is the hope that one day you'll be able to make their lives safe again. That they will someday have what you never could. Peace.

* * *

Your lips twisted in a bitter smile as you felt the familiar weight of the gun in your hand. Turns out you were getting your chance to trade places with Dean after all. One way ticket straight to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. But you don't have a choice, really. Dean had been dead. Somehow you knew instinctively that the boy had no longer been in his body. He hadn't passed on, or at least you don't think he had. You have a sinking feeling that he wouldn't go on his own with things so unfinished. He's too damn stubborn and would try to hang on in an attempt to help you and especially his baby brother. Maybe attach himself to Sammy or even the car. You let out a soft amused huff at the thought of Dean possessing the Impala, trying to force someone to fix her. Sounded like the boy.

You know that you can't let Dean die, even if he would cross over. Because you can't live in a world where he's dead. And even if you could? You know that Dean is keeping Sam from falling into the abyss. It had always been Dean who kept the family together, who acted as a bonding agent between you and Sam. You know that Sam loves you, that he wouldn't have killed you – and not just because Dean had begged him not to. You'd seen it in his eyes. But sometimes love wasn't enough. You'd raised them to be attached to each other, the way soldiers became during war time, because you knew that was the kind of bond that made strong men keep going no matter how badly they wanted to quite. You hadn't wanted them to have that with you, because damn it you always knew you'd be checking out early and you didn't want them to end up spiraling out of control when you did. Of course it will hurt them, but they would still have each other to worry about and that would force them to suck it up and keep going. That bond would keep Sam together because no matter what he was a strong man. They both were.

Sam argued with you, but you were too tired, to beat to participate. You sent him for coffee so you could have a minute with the only son you had ever been able to truly relate to. You know that if you told Sam that you didn't even have an hour left to live, he never would have started. He would be tearful and full of remorse. He may have even tried to figure out a way to keep you alive. But you can't do that to him. You can't put him through something that won't do either of you any good. Instead you finally told Dean that you loved him, that you were proud of him. He told him about Sammy, about what the demon wants with him and how Dean has to stop it any way he has to, because now you can't protect either of them any more then you already have. So you give Azazel the Colt and you let go.

* * *

You got free from your tormentors. They had been eager to get their hands on the man responsible for sending so many of them back and who trained his boys to do the same. You don't know how long you were tortured because it's damn hard to tell time in Hell. There is no day or night, no rising or setting sun. There is only the constant pain, and the oppressing atmosphere of despair. But they got careless one day and underestimated you. You like it when you're underestimated and you've always been good at hiding. Going to ground works even in Hell. You wonder around for what seemed like forever, going from hidey hole to hidey hole trying to stave off the pervasive feeling of hopelessness and despair that seems to infect the very air as you look for a way out.

There are things in the pit, hideous frightening abominations that don't seem to be demons, and don't really care about who you are and that you've escaped from your keepers. They find you out constantly but don't try to return you to your former prison, but they still mean you harm. They tend to leave you where they've found you when they're done stinging, or biting or just _hurting_ you. You've seen them do the same to the demons and you figure that's their role. Make sure Hell is hell for everyone. But you don't give up, figuring that demons get out somehow, and not usually because they'd been summoned. So there was a way. As long as there was a way, there was hope. You found a place where demons are congregating, near what looks like a door. A door to where? Where ever it went, it couldn't be worse than this, not if the demons actually seem desperate to get through. So you stay nearby, hiding and waiting and hoping that one of the things doesn't find you at the wrong time, debilitating you at the moment that you can escape.

One day the door opens and you slipped through, unnoticed in the mad rush. You found yourself a place that looks an awful lot like top side. You feel your heart literally _ache_ with relief. Then you see them. Your boys. You're heart threatened to explode with happiness and you laughed, because you should have _known_ that they would be here in the thick of it. If nothing else, Dean always knew how to find the action, and Sam had become his shadow once again. That's an even bigger relief then finding your way out because ironically being Dean's shadow was the safest thing for Sammy. Azazel was there too and you realized that this is your chance to once and for all rid your boys' lives of him. To make them safe again. So you do what you've always done when it came to doing what you thought was best for your sons since the fire that took Mary. You take the chance, don't consider the consequences, and ignore even the possibility of failure. You pull Azazel out of his body, giving Dean enough time to get the Colt and shoot him once he manages to return to his host.

Now it's done and Azazel is dead. You look down at your sons and smile. If you could have, you would have hugged them until they begged you to let them go so they could breathe. But you can't and that knowledge brings a sadness that not even being in the pit had caused. You want to stay – you _ache_ to stay. But you know you can't. They'll be alright, you tell yourself. You'd made sure of it. They have each other, Azazel is dead and Mary is waiting for you – somehow you know that she is. You don't give yourself time to think about it, to reconsider leaving. You don't let yourself weigh the option of helping them do what you know will be their next task – putting down the things that just escaped Hell. You can't even let yourself go there because you know that in the end you'll just put them in the painful position of needing to put you down too. You smile and nod at your sons one final time and then you're gone, taking the love and relief in their smiles with you.

Maybe you weren't the best father, the best protector, the best nurturer in the world. God knows you made a shit load of mistakes. But you kept them alive, and they grew up to be good men, decent men who cared about those around them. Heroic men with hard heads, soft hearts and ice water in their veins. Honorable men who hunted down and destroyed evil just because it was the right thing to do. Against all the odds, you somehow managed that. From where you sit that seems like a whole hell of a lot, maybe even enough to save the world. And it's all worth it.


End file.
